


Tuesday Nights

by wakandas_vibranium



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandas_vibranium/pseuds/wakandas_vibranium
Summary: Every Tuesday night you and Erik ordered pizza and watched family feud together.





	Tuesday Nights

“He gone off that henny!” Erik yelled at the television.

“That’s not the answer!” You laughed, holding your side as you pointed a petty finger at your boyfriend.

You’ve been watching Family Feud for about fifteen minutes now and you couldn’t breathe. You were wheezing so damn hard that tears began to prick your eyes. Erik was giving you the stink eye because you kept laughing at his ridiculous answers.

“Name an excuse men give for not being in the mood.” Steve Harvey asked again on the television.

“Man, how you gone tell me? That’s a good ass answer, (Y/N) and you know it!” He frowned. 

“I’m sorry babe, but, no it’s not! What kind of sense does that make, Erik? A man can’t get it up because he ‘gone off that henny’ ahaha!” You shook your head, snickering at him.

He excitably gestured at the television as one of the players answered that he’s had too much to drink, “See?! Now watch it be up on the board!”

You laughed as the big red X appeared on the board. You childishly stuck your tongue out, clowning him, “Ha! I told you that shit wasn’t going to be up there!”

“Aight, (Y/N) since you so goddamn sure of yourself, what’s your answer?” He huffed, angrily folding his arms over his chest. 

“I’d say an excuse men would give for not being in the mood…would be that he’s too tired.” You laughed as Erik pouted like the sore loser he is. 

“Nah, that’s not gonna be up there, (Y/N)!” Erik shook his head not even trying to give your answer some thought. 

“Boy, that is a legitimate answer!” You threw up your hands, throwing your head back on the arm of the couch. 

“That shit ain’t true though! I’ve never been too tired to bust down your walls.” He smirked at you. 

“Not every man is like you, Erik!” You pinched the bridge of your nose, giggling at your boyfriend. 

“I bet it’s not gonna be an answer.” He bit his bottom lip as he gazed at the television. 

You snatched your feet from his lap, turning his attention to you.

“Oh, really? You willing to back that up?” You raised a challenging eyebrow. 

“What? You wanna put money on it?” His smug smile irritated you. He pulled your feet back in his lap, gripping both of your ankles. 

“Man, don’t you still owe me twenty dollars from our last bet?!” You groaned, digging your toes into his thigh. 

“Oh, shit. That’s right. I forgot.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah, whatever, Erik. If my answer is up there, I want you to take me to that massage parlor. I want a full body massage.” You beamed at him. 

“Oh, hell naw! I’m not ‘bout to pay some nigga to touch all over you.” He sucked his teeth, shaking his head. 

“Boy, you sound so ignorant! There are females who work there, too.” You huffed, rolling you eyes. 

“Aight, fine. If you win, I will take you to the massage parlor. What do I get though, if you lose?” He sighed. 

You shrugged, grabbing a slice of pepperoni pizza and taking a huge bite. 

“That’s what you are supposed to tell me, Erik.” You mumbled. 

He rubbed his chin, thinking about what he wanted. He snapped his fingers, finally making a decision, “If I win, I want you to cook a big ass breakfast in the morning. Not just eggs and bacon either. I want pancakes and hash browns, too.”

“Okay. Bet then.” You nodded.

“Bet.” he challenged, slapping your leg. 

“Bet.” you dug your toes deeper into his thigh. 

You both paused as one of the players answered that he’s too tired. You jumped up, punching the air in victory as your answer popped up on the board. You began to dance, snapping your fingers and swinging you head from left to right like Lee and Carter from Rush Hour.

“Okay! Damn, you won that!” Erik huffed, fondly shaking his head at you. 

You stopped dancing, slowly straddling his lip. He hesitantly gripped your waist and you threw your hands over his shoulders, kissing his cheek, “You are such a sore loser, baby.”

“So?” He shrugged. 

“I’ll still cook you a big breakfast.” You laughed. 

“For real?” His eyes lit up. 

“Yes, Erik.” You nodded.

He grabbed your face, crushing your lips together. He broke the kiss, hugging you tightly, “I love you, (Y/N).”

You ran your hand over his head, rolling a few dreads between your fingers, “I love you, too.”

“Yeah? How much?” He asked, smirking at you.

“A lot…?”

You gasped, laughing as he began to tickle your sides, “Nah, I want a number.”

He laid you down on the couch, tickling you even harder. You were laughing so hard, “S—stop!” Eventually he stopped, pressing his forehead to yours.

You wiped your face, looking up into his eyes, he raised an eyebrow, “So, how much?”

“There isn’t a number big enough to express how much I love you, Erik.” You admitted. 

You giggled as he beamed at you with undisguised adoration.  He closed the distance, kissing you deeply. You loved this man so much. Even if he was a sore loser.


End file.
